


saudade

by haikyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Terminal Illnesses, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikyu/pseuds/haikyu
Summary: Sau · da · de (Portuguese) :a) The feeling of longing for something or someone that you love which is lost.b) It often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again.c) To lose someone, and never have them again.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	saudade

**Author's Note:**

> so... this is my first hq fic.
> 
> tw for character death and cancer

Iwaizumi wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He groans, fumbling around in the dark for the device. He taps the screen to see who's calling at 2AM.

It's Oikawa's mom. Iwaizumi picks up.

"Hello?" he murmurs, the bright phone screen feeling blinding at this time of night.

"Hajime," she says. Her voice is breathless, and in the background, Iwaizumi can hear the distant sound of a car driving. _What's going on?_ "Tooru's in the hospital."

"What?" Iwaizumi sits up, heart suddenly racing. The words _hospital_ and _Tooru_ rattle around inside his head. "Why?"

She's silent for a moment, before she softly says, "Pancreatic cancer." The erratic thudding of his heart in his chest drowns out the next words she says, but it doesn't matter. Because all he needs to know now is—

"How bad?" he asks, despite the fact that he'd be better off not knowing. He doesn't want to know how much time he has, how much pain he'll be in, how long before—

"Stage three," she whispers. "Hajime—"

He throws the sheets off him, stumbling out of bed. "Where?"

-

Oikawa's mom is driving out from Miyagi now. She'll arrive sometime in the afternoon.

Thank god for Oikawa's neighbor. He's the one who discovered Oikawa after collapsing and called for an ambulance.

It's just Iwaizumi here now though. What should he say? Does Oikawa know how bad it is? Is he in pain right now? Should he comfort him? Or speak normally?

"Excuse me," somebody says, jostling Iwaizumi. He jerks out of their way, watching as they enter Oikawa's room with ease. Through the door crack he can spot a head of brown hair swathed by hospital colors.

He appears to be awake and sitting up. He wonders how he's feeling right now. Iwaizumi watches as the nurse performs a few basic tests before cleaning up and exiting.

The room smells like everywhere in the hospital. Sickness, covered up with an overlaying scent of chemicals. Iwaizumi clears his throat, gaining Oikawa's attention.

Oikawa turns, and brightens. "Iwa-chan," he exclaims.

"How you feeling?" Iwaizumi asks, sitting down in the chair beside him.

Oikawa shrugs. "I feel okay," he says. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. _Does he know?_ Oikawa scowls. "I _know_ ," he says. "But honestly, I feel okay right now."

Iwaizumi bites his lip. "I—"

"Hey Iwa-chan," Oikawa says. "Would you buy me some milk bread?"

-

Iwaizumi goes to the nearest corner store to buy some milk bread. It's nearly 4AM, and Oikawa wants milk bread. Iwaizumi could almost laugh, if not for the fact that this time Oikawa's not buying it himself because he's lazy, but because he's in the hospital.

It sobers the mood.

Iwaizumi ends up buying two loaves, knowing how quick he can go through one.

-

Oikawa's still stuffing his face with milk bread when his mom run in, looking harried and tired.

"Tooru," his mom says, rushing over to wrap him in her arms.

"Mom," Oikawa manages out, slightly smothered by her. "I'm—"

"Hanamaki and Matsukawa are coming as well," she says. Her hands shake as she paints strokes on Oikawa's back. "It'll be alright."

All Iwaizumi can think is _No_ , _it's not going to be alright._ Oikawa's in the hospital. Nothing is alright.

-

After high school, Iwaizumi and Oikawa left for Tokyo, albeit not for the same college. Matsukawa and Hanamaki both remained in Miyagi. All four of them remained in touch, but to varying degrees due to busy schedules and distance.

They arrive the next day, bearing gifts. Matsukawa brings a box of cream puffs, and Hanamaki a bouquet of flowers.

"Are you my lover, Makki?" Oikawa teases as he accepts them.

Makki staggers, as if he's been wounded. "Are you saying you've forgotten me?"

Iwaizumi's heart is a drum against the whirr of hospital machines.

-

Oikawa's loses weight. Most of the muscle he used to have is gone now, either due to atrophy from not being able to exercise or from the disease. It doesn't really matter which though, does it?

The healthy flush that everybody has has seemed to disappear from Oikawa entirely. His pallor is always slightly yellow, and pale. Sometimes a thin sheen of sweat over his skin.

He looks sick.

Iwaizumi hates it.

-

Oikawa enjoys going on walks. Mostly around the hospital, or in the surrounding blocks. Never too far, the nurses warn. Iwaizumi doesn't dare try to disobey, no matter how much Oikawa may want to.

Iwaizumi needs to help him stand now. He also can't walk too fast.

"I get winded easily," Oikawa explains, an easy smile on his face. _Fake,_ Iwaizumi thinks, but smiles back anyways.

"What are you, a slug?"

Oikawa chuckles. "Maybe so," he says.

-

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa says one day. "I'm stopping treatment."

Iwaizumi's heart stutters. "Why?" he manages.

"It's not working," he says.

 _I'm going to die anyways_ , goes unsaid.

-

 **_oikawa:_ ** _iwa_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _are u awake_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _iwa channn_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _:(((_

 **_iwaizumi:_ ** _what_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _iwa chan!_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _im tired_

_**iwaizumi:** you woke me up just to tell me you're tired?_

**_oikawa:_ ** _NO WAIT_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _i have more to say_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _hhhhhhhhhhh_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _iwa?_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _u still there?_

_**iwaizumi:** yes_

**_oikawa:_ ** _what r u doing_

_**iwaizumi:** r u fuckin kidding me_

**_oikawa:_ ** _im bored_

_**iwaizumi:** didn't u say you were tired_

**_oikawa:_ ** _i am_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _but_

 **_oikawa:_ ** _idk_

_**iwaizumi:** then go to sleep u fuckin nerd_

**_oikawa:_ ** _i guess i should_

**_oikawa:_ **

**_oikawa:_ ** _good night iwa_

-

Oikawa sleeps more now. Half the time Iwaizumi arrives there and he's still asleep. It's hard to wake him sometimes. The nurses tell him to let him sleep.

"It's good for his system," one says. "Let him have some rest."

It pokes something sharp into Iwaizumi's chest, but he doesn't bother him anymore.

Sometimes he just watches him sleep. Oikawa looks tired, even in his sleep. It's not peaceful, or relaxed, as people sometimes describe it. He looks weary. Dark bags underneath his eyes even with all the sleep he's getting. His face looks hollow, as if he's running on fumes.

Then again, maybe he is.

Iwaizumi leaves the hospital for the third time that day. He'll have to come back later.

-

When Oikawa is awake, he can't do much. His legs shake too hard to walk now, muscles decayed to properly hold his weight (not that there's much of that either anymore). The nurses have to wheel him around everywhere. What once was muscle is now hollowed out fat and bone. Oikawa is a breathing skeleton, and they all know it.

But Oikawa smiles gracefully, and his features warm in a way they shouldn't be able to anymore. "Iwa-chan," he says.

Iwaizumi manages a smile. "Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "You look like shit."

Oikawa laughs, bright and happy. "Thanks," he says. He curls a finger, beckoning him closer. Iwaizumi steps closer. "Take me outside," he says.

"The nurses—"

"Please?" Oikawa asks, and he turns to Iwaizumi with that _look_ on his face and Iwaizumi's resolve crumples.

"Alright," he says. "Just for a few minutes."

-

The wind carries a chill in the air. Oikawa shivers. "Here," Iwaizumi says, placing his jacket around Oikawa's shoulders.

"I'm—"

"You need it," Iwaizumi says. Oikawa presses his lips together, but doesn't protest. His fingers curl around the edges of the jacket, wrapping it tighter around himself.

"Do you miss it?" he asks.

"Miss what."

"Volleyball," he says.

It's almost been year since they graduated. Iwaizumi stopped playing, but he knew Oikawa continued in a club. "Sometimes," he admits. Volleyball holds some of his fondest memories. Standing on the court, beside Oikawa, Matsukawa, Hanamaki...

Oikawa hums. "I think," he murmurs, "if I could play one last time it would make me happy."

Iwaizumi swallows. "Let's go back inside," he says.

-

Iwaizumi gets Oikawa resituated inside his room, with little scolding and help from a nearby nurse.

Oikawa's already feeling sleepy, Iwaizumi can tell. He's tired more than not and usually sleeps half the day away.

It worries Iwaizumi.

"Hold my hand?" Oikawa asks.

"W-what?" Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa pouts, and sticks his arm out towards Iwaizumi, not unlike a child wishing for comfort. Iwaizumi scoots closer. He hesitates before taking Oikawa's hand in his own.

It's cold. Colder than it probably should be, but he holds it anyways, hoping to share some of his own warmth with Oikawa. _He's scared,_ Iwaizumi realizes.

"Thanks Iwa-chan," he mumbles, eyes already closed.

Oikawa's hand is cold in his grasp, even though his heart still beats.

-

"Oi," Iwaizumi says, shaking Oikawa. Oikawa doesn't wake up at first, no surprise there, but Iwaizumi is persistent. Eventually, his eyes start to blink open.

"Iwa?" he slurs, still half-asleep.

"Wake up," Iwaizumi says. "I got permission to take you somewhere."

Oikawa sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "Oh?" he mumbles. Despite his flat tone, he's interested. Iwaizumi can tell. "Where?"

"It's a surprise," he says.

-

The nurses help Oikawa into the car, and give Iwaizumi a run-down of how to unfold and refold the wheelchair. Oikawa pointedly avoids any eye contact while they discuss that.

Iwaizumi doesn't make conversation while he drives. Oikawa looks out the window the whole time, a somewhat glum look on his face.

"We're here," he announces, parking the car.

This took a little help from a friend of his. Iwaizumi had to promise to clean it up and lock up afterwards.

He fumbles with the key, eventually successfully unlocking the door and pushing it open. The lights flicker on as they step inside. Shining floors, polished to perfected and straight white lines. The slight scent of lingering sweat and leather. It's—

Oikawa's eyes widen. "This is..." He glances around, as if he couldn't quite believe he'd ever step foot inside a gym again. Maybe he didn't think he would.

"You mentioned..." Iwaizumi trails off. _It'll make you happy_. He bends over to pick up a spare volleyball left on the floor. Oikawa stares at the ball in his hand, his face unreadable.

Iwaizumi passes him the ball.

Oikawa's hands shake violently as he grasps at the volleyball in his fingers. Whatever strength they used to hold is gone now. Iwaizumi starts to worry he made a bad choice bringing him here. It might make him even more depressed to see how much cancer has affected his body, destroyed everything he built it up to be.

"Iwa-chan," he says slowly, despite the fact that the tremor in his hands hasn't gone away. "Can I toss to you?"

Iwaizumi hasn't spiked in a while. He's sure he's rusty, and he might miss Oikawa's set. Oikawa might not be able to set properly either. But despite everything, he nods. Iwaizumi stretches his legs a little, embracing the familiar pull on his muscles. Like an old machine being started up after a while.

"You ready?" he says. Oikawa nods.

Iwaizumi throws the ball into the air.

Oikawa readies his arms. Iwaizumi almost smiles as he prepares to jump. After the past few months, of course his body still remembers. Volleyball is so ingrained into Oikawa's very being, Iwaizumi would be surprised if he would ever forget it.

Iwaizumi launches into the air, the feeling of suspense tugging at him.

If Oikawa misses—if _Iwaizumi_ misses, it might crush Oikawa.

But this isn't about him. It doesn't matter if he's scared. He'll jump anyways. Oikawa's hands may shake and his body may not be able to stand on its own anymore, but

And then all he has to do is to hit the ball. Hit the ball, like he's done a thousand other times with Oikawa. What's one more in the face of hundreds of games played?

The ball goes up. It's a little low, off the center of where Iwaizumi's spike normally would be. But that's okay. He can adjust. It's not too far off, he'll just—

The ball slams against the other side of the court.

Oikawa positively beams.

-

Oikawa passes out during the car ride back, fast asleep.

He remains asleep, even as Iwaizumi moves him from the car into his wheelchair and then back into his hospital bed.

-

The doctor gathers everybody.

"I think you should prepare," he says. Oikawa's mom sniffles. "He doesn't have much time left."

-

Iwaizumi doesn't go to see Oikawa the next day, or the next.

Three days pass before Matsukawa intervenes. "He asks about you," he says.

Iwaizumi swallows, guilt building in his throat.

"He's dying," Matsukawa says simply. "I think you should spend some time with him."

"Tomorrow," he promises.

-

Tomorrow never comes. Oikawa dies at 2:31 AM, December 13th, 2019. He just—just stopped breathing. The weight of tumors in his body and the spread of the cancer finally crushing him beneath their feet.

The funeral is held the following weekend.

It doesn't rain. It's perfectly sunny and clear, and the people's voices are crisp as they rattle off speeches about how important Oikawa was to their lives and how much they'll miss him.

Kageyama is there. Iwaizumi doesn't talk to him, but he sees him and that orange haired boy across the service. He's not crying, but neither is Iwaizumi. His face is grim and set. Like he just tasted something exceptionally sour. They make eye contact briefly, before Iwaizumi looks away.

Iwaizumi doesn't see him again.

-

Iwaizumi doesn't stick around the funeral afterwards. He knows he should. He should go see Oikawa's mom and offer his comfort. He should see Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and help them all support each other.

But his heart won't stop pounding, and he _can't take it anymore_. It's smothering. The atmosphere. The lingering cloud of grief and pain over everyone. The constant pictures of Oikawa everywhere. Oikawa smiling, Oikawa with a volleyball in hand, Oikawa beside Iwaizumi.

His chest hurts. There’s a persistent ache, a hole in his chest that couldn’t— _shouldn’t_ be filled by anything or anybody. It aches more at the sight of anything _Oikawa_ related. Tugging at his heart like it yearns to be filled again with him.

Except it can't, and it never will be again. Oikawa is gone.

-

Losing somebody you knew so viscerally was like losing a part of yourself you didn't even know was there until it was gone. There’s something about growing up with somebody; having your life so intertwined with theirs that you don't even remember what it’s like without them. It's a destabilization, like the ground’s been pulled out from under you. That this person you’ve always had always been with is gone. Gone. And they’re never coming back. You can never see them, never touch them, breathe in their scent or run your fingers through their hair. You can’t do any of these things anymore. And you never will again.

Loss is final. You can't go back in time. You can't plead with God, beg him or her to give them back. You can't change anything, change the way you acted or repair relationships you wished you had fixed. You can't tell them things you wish you had, whispered in their ear how much you loved them one more time.

You can't make it clear you loved them. You can only hope they knew.

-

There’s still that feeling when he thinks about Oikawa, like the wind has been punched out of him. Or when he stumbles upon a photo of him or something that reminds him of him (milk bread, a volleyball, a flash of curled brown hair in the corner of his eyes).

The sound of laughter.

Iwaizumi still can’t talk about him. He can't read through old texts. Can't look through old pictures because it _hurts_. It hurts too much still, like a raw wound that is being poked at. Even the group chat becomes too much, Oikawa's contact name still sitting inside the chat.

It’s just too much.

It’s been four months, and Iwaizumi’s not sure he’ll ever completely be the same.

-

Loss is vicious. It’s grown inside Iwaizumi like a weed, and consumed his heart. Iwaizumi sometimes thinks Oikawa took more than he should’ve to the grave with him.

Maybe, if he hadn't... hadn't—hadn't. Hadn't what? Hadn't cared so much about him? Hadn't grown up with him? Hadn't...

_Hadn't loved him?_

-

Iwaizumi regrets a lot of things. At the top of his list is not visiting Oikawa on December 12th, 2019. He wishes he could've spoken to him one last time. He doesn't even know what he wanted to say. There's a million things he wished they had the time to do and a million more things he still wants to say to him.

-

Knocking.

Iwaizumi stumbles to stand and yanks the door open.

It's Hanamaki. He scans Iwaizumi up and down. You look like shit," he proclaims.

"Thanks," Iwaizumi grumbles, but allows him inside.

"How're you holding up?"

Iwaizumi shrugs. "I'm fine."

Hanamaki snorts. "Bullshit," he says.

"Hanam—"

" _Look_ at yourself," Hanamaki says. "You're shutting us out. You don't talk to anyone. You can't even say his name, let alone go through his things."  
"I just don't—" Iwaizumi rubs at his eyes. "—don't think I can get over him," he rasps. It feels strange to admit out loud. Maybe he's spent too much time brewing inside his own mind. He feels exposed, like a nerve rubbed raw.

"Of course you’re never going to be the same," Hanamaki spits. "If you were, I'd fucking hate your guts for it."

Iwaizumi’s silent. "There’s no magical day you wake up and feel better," Hanamaki continues. "It’s shit. It _is_. Oikawa’s fucking _dead_ , Hajime. Nothing can change that."

Iwaizumi feels his throat clench. And there’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Sometimes, just sometimes, if Iwaizumi pretends hard enough it’s almost like nothing’s changed. If he looks away, if he closes his eyes to everything that Oikawa was in his life, maybe he could forget and it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

But everything has changed, and his heart knows it. Iwaizumi tilts his head back and tries not to think about the way his vision blurs.

Hanamaki softens. "He left it to you," he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I think it's time."

-

Entering Oikawa's apartment is a lot like stepping back a year, two years, three. Back to when everything was still okay. Back to when Oikawa was still alive and Iwaizumi could touch the flush in his cheek. When his hands still had warmth when Iwaizumi held them.

All the memories he has of this place are lively, full of smiles and loud voices and drunken cheer. Now the apartment is dark, with a thin sheen of dust coating everything. It's cold, but Iwaizumi wouldn't expect them to have kept the heating on as well.

Oikawa's pair of keys are left on the kitchen counter, haphazardly thrown. Iwaizumi can imagine him returning home, slinging them across the counter before flopping onto the couch. There's an indentation on the left couch cushion. Obviously Oikawa's preferred side of the couch.

These little signs of life—former life—everywhere he looks stings more than they should. But Iwaizumi swallows his feelings and moves onward. He needs to pack. He needs to pack.

He moves robotically. Placing things in boxes without even really looking at them. Plates, utensils, napkins. These are easy. Iwaizumi can do this.

He reaches for a cup and hesitates when he's greeted with cheesy green alien face painted on the front. A child's design, obviously. But it's so _Oikawa_ it's almost painful.

Iwaizumi places it carefully in the box before moving on. More mugs, nothing special. A few quotes on them, but nothing too meaningful.

The fridge is almost bare. A few old beer bottles in there, a spare fruit, long rotten, and a very old bag of milk bread. Mold is visible at the corners of the bag. Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose as he moves it all into the trash bag.

The kitchen cleaned and cleared, somehow looking more desolate than it did before. Iwaizumi sighs before moving into the living room area. A few DVD boxes, a spare pillow, a pink console. It's funny almost. How so much of a person's lives can be packed up into a few boxes. There's years of stories in these walls, and yet it only takes a few hours to stuff it into a box and seal it away.

He's almost done rifling through his TV cabinet drawers when he finds an old-fashioned recorder hidden beneath all of the DVD boxes. There's a strip of tape across the middle, nothing written on it. Obviously, whoever it was for, Oikawa never got around to giving it to them. Hanamaki's words still ringing in his head, he flicks the device on. It whirrs softly as the small screen lights up, displaying battery and one recording on its memory.

October 10th, 2019. The day before Oikawa's collapse. Iwaizumi swallows. This—this was one of the last things Oikawa did before his collapse.

Iwaizumi can't help the burning curiosity that fills his chest as he clicks play. Static fills the room. In the background, a dog barks. And then—

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa's voice. Iwaizumi freezes. It’s painful, and sweet to hear at the same time. Iwaizumi hasn’t heard it for a long time, it’s almost foreign. but yet still familiar in a way coming home after a long time still is.

“This is for you," he continues. “I thought a lot about how I should do this y’know. I came up with like a million different ways. But in the end I couldn't do any of them. I wanted to do it right because—because you're _you_." Oikawa chuckles, easygoing and hopelessly _alive_ , despite everything that was happening to him. "There's a lot of different ways this could go given well, everything, and I'm not sure I could take it if you... well..." Oikawa trails off in thought. "It’s hard," He finishes, and Iwaizumi can imagine him drooping.

A beat. And then;

"Ah, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffs, perkier, before pausing. Iwaizumi can hear him breathing over the wash of static. “I don’t know where I was going with this,” he chuckles. “Sorry Iwa-chan!” Oikawa's silent for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, this time softer and smaller. Something in Iwaizumi's chest curls inward, but the tape keeps rolling.

“I—I don't regret many things,” he says slowly. “But I think... I think one of the things i do regret is—" Iwaizumi's breath hitches. "—never telling you the truth. I suppose I should just say it now, cuz I'm not sure I’ll work up the courage to do it again.”

"Hajime," Oikawa— _Tooru_ —mumbles, "I l—"

Iwaizumi jumps as the device sparks, an arc of electricity spiking out, hitting his hand. The device tumbles out of his grasp before clattering to the floor. Iwaizumi stares, shocked, as the device fizzes, before giving out, Oikawa’s voice dying with it.

He carefully picks it back up, already knowing it's most likely beyond repair. some of the plating’s come off on the back, bits and pieces of shell and inside scattered across the floor. He'll will have to vacuum later, to ensure he gets all of them.

He mashes the play button a few more times for good measure. The screen glitches, but nothing happens. The recording doesn't play again, and Oikawa never finishes his sentence.

He leaves the recorder on the table, making a mental note to throw it out later. No use in keeping it, right?

It’s broken anyways. but even as Iwaizumi leaves the apartment and shuts the door, as he walks down the sidewalk away from his place, one thought still pervades his mind.

In the end, he never did get to say it.

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed
> 
> catch me on twt: haikyu


End file.
